The Tim Johnson Story
by CamusPessimist
Summary: The Tim Johnson Story depicts the adventures of Tim Johnson, from his death at the hands of Atticus Finch in Maycomb to his brutal resurrection by Zeebo as part of his experiment to infect the human race and obtain world domination. Follow the small band of heroic characters from novels of literary merit on their quest to stop Zeebo, save Tim, and find a cure to combat the virus.
1. Prelude

_15 years. I still can't believe that I haven't seen Finny for 15 years. As I walk the floors of the school that changed everything, all I can think about is him. He is dead, and yet he cannot be, for I am him. I still have dreams of all the times we had, and nightmares of them too. It seems that he's still alive sometimes, and just waiting for me to- wait, who's that?_

" _Hi, I'm Beneatha Younger, what's your name?"_

 _I have to remind myself that Finny is dead, and now I am visiting Devon._

" _I'm Gene Forrester. I used to study here with Finny a while ago."_

 _She looks at me, confused. I realize that I mentioned Finny, and almost break out into a laugh of embarrassment. Why can't I get him out of my head?_

" _I'm sorry, did I say Finny? He's just a friend me and everyone else had back in the day… back when everything was banana cream pie and war," I say._

" _Oh, is he here with you?"_

 _I take a minute to reply. It's not easy talking to someone and telling them your best friend, perhaps my only friend, is, well... dead, and that I was the one responsible for it._

" _He's dead."_

 _I expect to hear the "sorry's" and that "I didn't mean to make you remember" and all of that. What she doesn't know is that it cannot change things. I killed Finny. He died because of my loss of control and stubbornness at the tree. He might have healed if he wasn't injured again, but he was. And now he's dead. Sorry him._

" _Oh," she says._

 _We converse a while longer in the hallway, speaking of things like school and life. Then I walk through the halls of the newly painted school, having memories flood back to me in a rush of good and bad._

 _Then I visit the tree._

 _The rain starts to fall as I walk outside._


	2. Chapter 1 The Exposition Chapter

The year was 1932. A lot had happened between the stock crash of '29 and now. Unemployment peaked at 33%, the Dust Bowl brutally ravaged farmlands in the West, and racial intolerance was at an all-time high.

The Great Depression affected many citizens gravely and the U.S. was plunging ever deeper into an inauspicious financial crisis. One such man affected by this was a guy by the name of Robert Neville.

Robert was born in 1889 in Springfield, Illinois, to former slaves from Missouri who had fought for the Union during the Civil War. He was a brilliant man and an intellect; he studied medicine at a college in Trenton, New Jersey for six years and received his Masters in pathophysiology.

Robert, like any ordinary person, bought war bonds during the Great War and began investing in the stock market ever since, but luckily he sensed something impactful was lurking and made a withdrawal of all his money, and the following year, the stock market crashed.

Since Robert was black, he received his fair share of racial discrimination and hatred, but that didn't stop him from taking dangerous gambits. From a young age, he was inspired by influential figures such as Frederick Douglass and W.E.B. DuBois and how they dealt with the wraths of racism. Robert always wanted the chance to prove that black people were as capable as whites in any field of work. His mother gave him full support but his father, who adhered to the words of Booker T. Washington, explained times were tense and now was not the time to be a martyr, but Robert explained nothing was going to get done just by sitting around and let racism spread like a virus throughout society and spread to future generations. His father reluctantly agreed for his son to begin this crusade, but warned him of the consequences he'd face and possibly even death from white radicals.

Very diligent and prioritized in his gambit, he left his family in 1930 seeking a job in the South.

Even though the South wasn't as tedious as it was before and during the Civil War, intimidation played a key factor in normal southern society.

Robert had gone from southern state to state, starting first in Houston and making his way to Jackson. Sometimes, he would just walk in a store and would leave just by looking at the owner's or employee's ominous and disturbing looks at him.

Finally, Robert lost all hope and before he decided to leave to the North, he was stopped by the one and only Tim Johnson.

Tim Johnson was like any normal dog… if you consider a dog talking and standing on its hind legs "normal." Tim's past is opaque and one of the things he can't clearly recall. His earliest memory was being employed as an accountant in Missouri, and he won big respect from many customers and eventually became the general manager of a federal bank in Maryland.

After seeing his potential, a few marketers invited him to work with the "big shots" in New York, like Jack Zuta and Huguette Clark. Tim denied the offer and went in search of a simple life, but simple wasn't good enough for Tim for he was well-known throughout the U.S. Tim traveled to the South in 1932 and found the ambitious yet unsophisticated Robert Neville. Tim took Robert under his wing, and the two developed a fond and respectful friendship.

Later that month, they became businessmen and opened a franchise in the quiet town of Abbeville, Mississippi, called Ya'lls Bakery Needs. Though Robert was extraordinarily ambitious and let his greed of things precede his foresight, Tim was the patient type and invested their money properly. Robert had gotten in a quarrel with Tim about expanding the franchise, but Tim was trying to avoid public life as much as he could and felt this town was the best he's had in years and denied the various requests.

Often Robert would get death threats from white bakery owners throughout the state and warned him to shut down his business, but Tim reassured their only scare tactic was bluffing and that the only coward is the one who cannot challenge the other one head-to-head. Tim would soon learn that from experience.


	3. Chapter 2 Mr Johnson, Meet the Johnsons

Five o'clock was the usual shutting time, or so it had been for the past three months. Robert liked to stay after and wipe the counter until he could see a perfect reflection of himself. Tim stood like a statue, looking at the many awards and achievements they acclaimed through the past months. Tim gave a smile and turned to Robert, who was concentrated on his current task.

"It'll be exactly four months next Tuesday," Tim said joyfully. At first, he didn't think Robert heard him, but after giving a small sigh, the man spun on his heels. He walked over next to his partner.

"We've gotten all these awards, all these honors, and yet you don't seek to expand our franchise. We can be a multi-millionaire corporation with franchises scattered around the U.S. and Europe."

Tim rolled his eyes. He had a feeling Robert would bring this up again, but he was going to explain it yet again.

"Let's not get carried away for the hundredth time, Robert," Tim said exhaustingly. "We are only in the beginning of this business and we have to use our money wisely and contently. In case you haven't realized, the entire world is culminated in a wide financial crisis where money is scarce and businesses are competing to the last penny to stay alive. We spend foolishly and we'll end up like most folks nowadays, begging for a bowl of cereal and a glass of water every mornin'."

Robert leaned on the counter and rolled his eyes. He forgot how many times he asked Tim this question and how many times he got the same exact answer.

"We make good money, Tim, and with your history of accounting it will suit us well. We won't get scammed." He glanced at the old and dusty grandfather clock sitting in the corner, then turned his eyes to the entrance and observed the day's evening sun.

"It's almost five thirty. You gonna lock up today or still going to polish?" Tim asked. Robert didn't reply.

"Well then, I'll be heading out," Tim said, giving a hesitant nod. He flashed a small smile and walked out into the evening breeze.

It was a warm day and the spring air welcomed him from hours of busy service. He rejuvenated as the sunlight danced across his spin and reflected off of his majestic gold fur.

Abbeville was a small community and everyone knew everyone, so Tim was used to not seeing any new faces to wave to or say "hello." It would actually be a blessing if he could talk to someone he'd never seen before.

This community only consisted of around forty people, and the other people were just merchants and vagabonds searching for work or coming to fuel up.

Tim walked to his shabby little shelter at the end of town, but to Tim, it seemed like the end of the world. His little shelter was made out of trashcans and broken awnings made of tin. He also had filthy blankets covered with holes and a half-eaten pillow with settlements of termites in the cotton. Tim lied on his "bed" and pondered.

This life ain't no good. I'm as rich as he is. I shouldn't have to be living in these conditions. I have the money, but it's just… just in case.

Tim didn't have anything to do; that's why he depended so much staying at work and talking with Robert. After work he would just sit there and stare into emptiness.

He wanted to ask Robert if he could move in with him, but that would make it look like the fabulous Tim Johnson, once a world-famous accountant and financial agent, could not take care of himself and only invested his money instead of spending it.

It would make it look like Tim was just like any other dog and could not take care of himself.

But he wasn't, and he knew it, and Robert knew it, and every person he had ever met knew it.

Tim lied on the blanket and folded his arms, staring at the tin as it began to rust. He sat there and found himself slowly drifting off to sleep. He closed his eyes and began to doze when he heard footsteps and loud chatter. Tim slowly lifted his head and saw two shadows advance towards him.

Tim wasn't scared; he could take on anyone. Once, someone a few weeks back attempted to rob the bakery, and Tim was able to stop them with one glare straight in the burglar's eyes.

The chattering grew louder and louder until the voices suddenly vanished. He then spotted two shadows hovering over his shelter.

Suddenly, a face popped in and Tim gave a little shiver, not because he was scared, but because it wasn't the prettiest face in the world to look at.

"Why, it's a dog!" the woman said. She was black and had wrinkles scattered across her face and looked middle age. "Oh, Harry I knew we's find one!"

A man in a black suit with a red tie bent down. He had a few spots on his forehead as he removed his fedora.

"By golly, it is!"

Tim was about to shoo them away with his growl when Harry reached his hand out to touch him, then he settled his temper.

"What is the meaning of this exorcise?" Tim asked profoundly. The two recoiled back in fear and awe.

"He… you... but, you… talked," the woman stammered.

Tim rolled his eyes in annoyance, but he had to remember it wasn't everyday someone met a talking dog.

"Pardon us, but we're from the North. Illinois, actually," the man said. "It's not everyday a normal couple like us would find a talking dog."

"Yes, I know you're from the North. You definitely ain't southern, cause your fatuity and absurdity would get you killed out here," Tim said, trying to not sound so threatening and cruel but attempting to get the point across.

"We're sorry, Mister, uh, dog, but I just found out a few months ago I cannot give birth, so my husband and I have been going from state to state in search of work, and also a companion like a dog. Whenever we see a tramp on the loose we immediately want to take it, but it returns happily to its owner. Looking at your conditions, I 'spect you ain't belonging to no one," the woman said.

"Ah, yes, assuming I live in this kind of hospitality makes me a 'tramp.' I do indeed know a lot of people, Miss. Tomfoolery, and I don't need your Northern adamancy to intrude on me or my reputation. I work with Robert Neville, and technically if I were a pet, he would be my owner," Tim explained.

The two jumped back.

"Robert Neville? I used to go medical school with him in Trenton!" Harry said.

"Are you, by chance, that famous dog accountant, Jim Thompson?" the woman asked.

"Tim Johnson," sighed Tim.

"Tim Johnson. Yes, sorry. I am very horrible with remembering names, please forgive me," the woman said. "But anyways, we're in Abbeville, Harry! Remember that famous bakery is here!"

"Yes, this is Abbeville. And the last time I checked, there was a sign like right over there saying that in case you missed it," Tim pointed.

Harry chuckled. "You are a very humorous dog, Mr. Johnson. I'm Harry Johnson, and this is my wife, Marcy."

"Is it somewhat a coincidence our last names are the same?" Tim asked.

"Oh, not at all! Up North, most of the people have the same last name. Adams, Smith, Johnson, etc. Anyways, to the point, would you like to live with us?" Harry asked.

Tim thought for a minute, but in his world it seemed like hours.

A life with these people… it's a better luxury than living here I must say… but will Robert ever forgive me? We built this corporation together and I stand to fall with it, if that's even proper.

Tim closed his eyes and inhaled the air. "I'm sorry, but I have a duty to commit for my business and I plan to stick with it."

Harry and Marcy exchanged glances.

"The dog admires his owner. I never imagined the day a dog could finally prove himself to be a man's best friend," Harry said.

"Well, I have an idea. Why don't we just live here and you can stay with your Robert. We can be your new owners and get that heavy burden off of poor Robert's shoulders," Marcy suggested.

"Okay, lady, first of all, no one is my owner, got it?" Tim said. "I only said Robert was, but it was hypothetical. And second, if you do wish to live here, you will have to provide yourselves with your own supplies and jobs."

"Well, why can't we just work for you?" Harry asked.

"You made it this far to Mississippi, you can do the rest," Tim winked.


	4. Chapter 3 Tim's Dilemma

Surprisingly for Tim, yesterday went by very apace as he went out for some coffee at the local tavern with the Johnsons.

Tim headed to the bakery early in the morning and found Robert already there, organizing everything for today's work. An awkward silence fell amidst until Robert finally said something.

"So I hear the Johnsons have adopted you?"

"How'd you know?" Tim asked quizzically.

"When you leave in a town with forty inhabitants, word gets around quite quickly," Robert said, glaring at his business partner.

"News does travel faster than the speed of light, I will admit that," Tim said, scratching the hair under his chin.

Robert didn't reply and kept attending to cleaning the front counter, and Tim let out a sigh, knowing something was agitating him.

"Is there any problem whatsoever with the Johnsons adopting me?"

"Well, no, but… actually, yes, Tim, there is a problem with that. Why'd you never ask me if you could live with me instead of these vagrants?"

"Well, you know… we're business partners, so…" Tim began, but the words spilled into a heap on the ground.

"Let me ask you this, Tim. Is it going to destroy your image and your reputation that the fabulous and amazing Tim Johnson, more exalted than the Great Jay Gatsby, has to live with a black man and can't afford his own house?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Robert? They're black too. It doesn't make a difference whatsoever."

"What I'm talking about, 'Sir Johnson,' is you've barely known these people for a day and you've known me for months and you never asked me to take you in, but yet you accept them," Robert said intricately.

"What's the big deal, Rob? You're acting like a five year old again. Everything is a big problem with you."

"The big deal is you're taking these people into your life and not me, your best friend," Robert explained.

"You're just crazy talk. You assume too much. That's always been one of your worst qualities, judgin' a book by its cover."

"This ain't no Prince Charming marrying a princess fantasy, Tim! They're the Johnsons! They're insane!"

"Okay, I do admit they are awkward in some ways, but they are very generous."

"They may look stupid and seem stupid, but don't let that fool you. They really are stupid."

"They can't be that bad. You always over exaggerate. You make things seem worse than they are realistically and put everyone down."

"They're probably heading up North, telling anyone they see how they've met the fabulous and almighty Tim Johnson! Just wait a day, half the country's press will be knocking down these walls to get an interview."

"I specifically told them not to spread that news around. They seem… somewhat trustworthy, but I am almost certain they would never do such a thing."

"Well, unfortunately for you, that buffoon Harry Johnson can't keep his trap shut! If you would enter his mouth in a race it would win every time. We knew each other when we were in medical school and he was a yapper! And his wife! She brags and gossips all the time! She's worse than he is, and that's saying' somethin'!"

"You loaf head, you don't know that! People change!"

"Why do you think I left the North and come down here, huh? So I could evade those kind of people!"

Tim twitched furiously and snarled at him. "You told me because you wanted to take chance and to make it look like black people are very capable of doing white work, not that! I cannot believe you would lie to me!"

"Tim, I did not lie to you. With reasons there come various details, and those two were the predominant ones."

The two sat there, catching their breaths.

"Look, we're short on ciabatta, so I'm heading to Vicksburg to buy some. I hope you don't try to leave me now that you've got 'owners'," Robert said, grabbing his stuff and heading out. Tim glared at him and shook his head.

That man… he's still learning. He will know soon enough.

A few minutes later, a man with a brown fedora and ugly green suit stumbled in. He tripped over a floorboard and slid to the counter. This should be good, Tim thought.

"Uh, excuse me, sir, are you Mr. Tim Johnson?" the man asked in a squeaky, high-pitched voice.

"In the flesh. Welcome to Ya'lls Bakery Needs. How may I stir you with showing you are fine variety of breads?"

"Oh, no, I'm good, but thank you," the man said, grabbing Tim's paw. "Scott Dansel, Real Estate Financer from Federal Finance Corporations up North," the man said, revealing his slimy, yellow teeth.

"Um, pardon?" Tim asked.

"Well, you're an accountant, are you not?" Scott asked.

"Yes, I am, or was, but still am. I've worked on the finance fields I'm afraid ages ago."

"Well, you seem to know what you're doing since you are doing a fine job upholding this establishment."

"Bring it to the point, bub," Tim said, annoyed of Scott's customary welcoming nature.

"My manager is interested in your capabilities as an accountant and wants you to work for him, but not directly. You see, he's offering you a job to a new franchise we just set up in a... somewhat popular town. It's a bigger and better city than this dump, I can assure you that."

"And where is this 'bigger and better' city?"

"Maycomb, Alabama," Scott grinned.

"Maycomb. Maycomb. Who lives there? Why, yes, I believe that lawyer, goodness, what's his name… Finch, Atticus Finch lives. Yes, I've heard good things about that man. Certainly an offer to uphold," Tim said. "But listen, Mister Urgency, I don't have time for this kind of tedious errand that your boss wants. I can't just leave this business for something I gave up quite some time ago."

Scott scratched his hair which was infested with lice and leaned on the counter. Tim slowly scooted back.

"I, uh, I hear you have a fortune, but you choose not to use it for some apparent reason," he winked.

Tim gulped and began to sweat. His tail furiously wagged back and forth as he tried to reply.

"Yes, but it's confidential only to me, sir. That is solely my personal business, nothing for public domain," Tim responded.

"We're in the middle of a depression, son, use it! Show those bums on the street a dog can make a better living than them."

"It's a very generous offer, Scott, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to consult this matter with my business associate."

"Damn it, you stupid dog, don't you understand anything?" Scott yelled, breaking into an unexpected rage that surprised Tim a little. "You're getting a higher pay, better living conditions, and a better job opportunity! This is the South! No one respects a black man I'm sorry to say! So if you're going to turn this grand opportunity down, then let the devil strike my unworthy and incompetent soul."

Definitely not what I call a superb business specialist, Tim thought. He inhaled the air and finally exhaled a sigh and gave a small "fine."

"Very good, I'll inform my boss. You leave this Thursday," Scott said. He didn't bother shaking Tim's hand, but Tim would turn down the offer anyway to shake the greasy thing.

After a few hours and an influx of customers, Robert showed up. He put the purchased items on the counter.

"You seem troubled," Robert noted. "Look, maybe I did get aggravated this morning, and I sincerely apologize for it, but the Johnsons? Really? They're notorious from where I come from. They're vagabonds and try to find anything to make a family, or so it seems like."

"Apology accepted, dear friend, but that's not the reason," Tim replied. He wanted to tell Robert the truth, but some unbalanced force was holding him back. Thursday was only two days away, so he would have to break the news sooner or later.

At the end of the day, Tim stayed to clean up while Robert went home to lie down from a migraine he developed returning from Vicksburg.

At six, Tim headed to his new house. The Johnsons were gone, which didn't surprise Tim after his altercation with Robert that morning. At about nine, there was a large slam and loud chatter and he figured it was them. After what seemed like an hour of yacking, the volume died down.

Tim sat in the darkness, eyes opened, brain clouded, and knew what he had to do.


	5. Chapter 4 Malice at the Bakery

Tim awoke to the sound of nothing, as usual. He always woke up precisely at 5 a.m. and did his daily routine of yoga and karate exercises until the rooster woke up.

He then usually washed up and then went to the store to open up, but today he made a quick stop to one of the Service Corporation buildings in southern Oxford.

It seemed like a long walk, but to Tim it was his daily morning exercise.

Plus, he had to make sure that if he accepted their job that he would never have to see Scott Dansel and his fetid capitalism again, and demanded a written consent signed by multiple people in high power of the company. He then continued to the store until it became almost visible on the horizon. He suddenly tensed and sniffed the air. There was something wrong at the store; he could smell fear.

He started running as fast as he could. The fear-smell became stronger as he got nearer, and he swore he could hear some type of yelling. He leapt onto his four paws to maximize speed as the scene sped towards him.

When he saw Robert on his knees looking at the store he skidded to a halt, and then looked at the store, almost afraid to look.

There it was. He wasn't sure who had the audacity to do this to him but he would have his revenge.

The store was completely broken, robbed of everything inside. The offender had spray-painted the entire store a gross rainbow color, and had broken all the windows. The security system consisting of cameras and wireless transmitters that took Tim hours to install was heaped in the trash.

He looked at it in horror and heard a voice behind him. A broken, shambled, small voice, one that once belonged to a man who possessed pride.

"They even took the yeast," Robert cried, soaking his tears into his hands.

Tim turned to look at him and saw the tears leak onto the ground. A small noise in the store brought him snapping back to attention.

A bomb!

He knew how to act. Without even thinking, he lunged himself at Robert to shove him out of the blast radius. His momentum pushed Robert to safety behind a parked vehicle, but failed to save Tim. Tim knew he didn't have enough time to escape the bomb.

He looked back at it right when it exploded. That's when it all went black.


	6. Chapter 5 Revelation

Tim awoke to the sound of nothing. He realized he was in a hospital bed, and he automatically wondered what had happened. He knew, though. He hoped that Robert was saved from any damage from the blast, and then wondered what happened to himself. He felt pain in his left leg and his forehead, but other than that he felt fine.

A nurse was tending to the machines connected to him, and while he watched, she whistled a peaceful tune that seemed to put Tim's soul into harmony.

"You have quite the willpower there, Mr. Johnson," she said, fading the peaceful whistle.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means? You were literally 10 feet from a bomb when it exploded and you suffered four fractures along with a major concussion and multiple bruises. You also suffered second degree burns all the way down your left side and your back."

"Wow, that's like… 10 injuries," Tim said, rolling his eyes without an impression. "Do you think I haven't suffered worse?"

"Well," said the nurse, taken aback. "All I see here is that you have a headache and your leg is healing. You were only out for about eight hours. How did you heal so quickly? For a normal animal it'd take days, not to mention if they die first."

"Eight hours?!" Tim exclaimed. "Good Lord! I must be older than I thought! What happened while I was out?"

"Well, your friend, Mr. Neville, is also in the hospital, but not for the reason you think. He is in deep depression since you-"

"Hold on, I'll go visit him," Tim said, holding up his hand. He started to pull various needles and tubes from his body as he tried to sit up, but the nurse pushed him down.

"You can't stand! You have a broken back, and you were just out for almost half a day!"

Tim glared at her. He slowly sat up again, this time with no resistance from the nurse. He stood up and tried standing on his left leg.

When no pain shot up his leg, he tried jumping lightly. Still nothing. The nurse looked at him, astounded.

"But… your, how… your leg is broken!" she stammered.

Tim took a chance and tried to complete his one-footed backflip. He landed with no pain and loved the expression on the nurse's face when he turned to look at her.

"You underestimate my power," Tim said chillingly.

Robert woke to darkness. He sighed and pulled the blinds back to reveal the midday sun. He couldn't believe he had slept this long, but he then realized he didn't care. Since the store was obliterated, he had sunk into depression, but when he realized what happened to Tim, he felt devastated.

All that happened after Tim looked at him back at the bakery was just a blur. Tim had acted instantaneously that he didn't know what was going on, and the next memory he had was him behind a car with a large explosion nearby.

Robert had passed out from fear, and the doctor had told him everything the police told him when he woke at the hospital. He knew that his business was ruined with the store gone, but he didn't know what happened to Tim. Is he even still alive?

Either way, he was depressed nonetheless. Nothing could stop the inevitable now. All the people he so deeply relied on to let him keep his store open would come cracking down on his irresponsibility. Everything he owned would have to be sold to offset all the various costs that would come, and he would be left with nothing, just as he had when he began this quest.

He could see from the corner of his eye the door open and nobody entered, but then a shadow approached him.

"Robert!" Tim said with enthusiasm.

"I don't want to talk to you," Robert said. "Everything is ruined because of you."

Tim walked to Robert who turned to look at him. Tim promptly slapped him in the face.

"What was that for?!" Robert exclaimed, but he felt dumb since he knew the answer already.

Tim said nothing while he stared at Robert. Then he turned around and started to walk away. Now was the time.

"I'll be leaving for Maycomb tomorrow evening. Business, you know," he explained. "You can expect my savings to be wired into your account by then."

Robert didn't understand.

"Wait, you have money saved up? Why are you giving it to me then?"

Tim stopped at the door, turned and grinned.

"Well, you need to rebuild your store, don't you?"


	7. Chapter 6 Sweet, Ol

The Johnsons, who were worried sick about Tim, were quite surprised to see him walking through their door.

"Weren't you in the hospital with a coma just a mere few hours ago?" Marcy asked.

"I healed," Tim said simply. He didn't feel the need to explain everything to them. Apparently, the Johnsons got the message and only nodded. Tim felt that this was the time to also inform them of his departure.

"I'm heading out to Maycomb for business bright tomorrow evening. Permanently. I know that this is less than ideal, but I have made up my mind and found it to be a very beneficial opportunity. Feel free to say your goodbyes now," Tim informed.

Harry and Marcy smiled at each other then looked at Tim, who raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Marcy began. "That young man from the corporation informed us of this news so we packed and want to come with you!"

Tim was taken aback. That little piece of worm-ridden filth, he would do this, he thought to himself.

"But, uh… don't you have things here you have to tend to?" Tim asked.

"Oh, no," piped in Harry. "We've been meandering from city to city in search of a job and to find a dog or baby to adopt. None of them have adoption centers, isn't that curious?"

"Well, then, since I don't see any other alternative, or other way to get rid of you, feel free to tag along," Tim said.

Tim found himself actually quite happy to see the Johnsons coming along in the end. He realized that he would have missed them if they hadn't wanted to come, for some strange reason. For the rest of that day, he packed his belongings and helped the Johnsons pack theirs. The next day came by quickly, and, without further adieu, they left.

"So, what do you think?" Scott Dansel asked. Tim was standing behind him, seeing that anybody had enough nerve to let this scum be in his sight again.

In front of them was a semi-luxurious house that was near the town center of Maycomb, Alabama. It was blue and had a beautifully trimmed green lawn, three bed rooms, an office for Tim to do his work, two bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a dining room, and a social area with a shelf of books.

"Well, I think it's fantastic!" Marcy said, marveling the new house. "What do you think, dear?"

"Yes, it's fantastic," Harry added. "What do you think, Tim?"

Tim was silent. Everyone turned to look at him, expecting an answer. He looked at nobody, and everyone was wondering what had happened when he spoke.

"OUT!" he yelled. "OUT, OUT, OUT, OUT, OUT! I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU AND YOUR FILTHY CAPITALISM ANYWHERE NEAR ME, YOU UNDERSTAND?" He looked at Scott with a vulture's eye and burning hatred. "LEAVE AND NEVER RETURN! DO YOU HEAR ME? AND IF YOU SO DO BRING YOUR DIRTY CARCASS HERE EVER AGAIN, I WILL MAUL YOU TO DEATH WHERE YOU STAND!"

Scott, whose face turned pale, wasted no time handing Harry the deed and Tim's assignments from the boss and hurrying out.

Maycomb turned out to be a very nice town. Harry was able to get a job driving a bus from Mobile and back, and it paid enough for the mortgage. Meanwhile, Marcy became a house maiden around the town and gained a respectful reputation. She made friends with another house maiden named Calpurnia and also people such as Miss Maudie Atkinson and Stephanie Crawford. She even joined Calpurnia's church and attended a knitting club every Thursday night. Tim, in the meanwhile, explained he had no interest in meeting these people and wanted time to himself and his work. One day, Marcy encouraged Tim to visit the neighborhood while she attended a tea party hosted by Stephanie. Tim declined with a snarl, but agreed just to stop by and say hello to the guests at the party.

Marcy and Tim approached the door and Stephanie answered.

"Oh, Marcy, it is so good to see you! And you brought your dog! Oh, he's such a cute thing. Who's a good boy, who's a good boy?" She began to make cherubic faces at Tim.

"Excuse me, Ms. Kismet, but if all you're going to do is stand there prattling like a fool then I'll leave since I have more important business to handle."

Stephanie's eyes widened and looked up at Marcy, who gave a sly grin.

"He just… but, what? You talked!" Stephanie exclaimed, at a loss of words.

"I hope I did, and I hope you got the message. Now please, if you could speed this up I would love to get back to my duties. My boss wants this finance bill by tomorrow and I'm not even half way down with it."

Stephanie invited the two and all the ladies' eyes turned to them.

"Good evening, ladies, it is nice to meet you all," Tim waved. "Can I go now?"

"Now, now, Tim, don't be so reluctant on going. Please, meet everyone," Marcy said.

Tim shook each hand and they only looked at him in shock. After introducing himself, he left.

"That dog is something, Marcy. I'm surprised you haven't kicked him out," Maudie said.

"Actually, he would be the one to kick us out of our house," Marcy replied.

The week went by quick and Tim was able to get all his necessary requirements done. A new agent came to speak with Tim that the boss is very pleased with his hard efforts and that a promotion may be in place, but Tim refused. Public life was still too much for him to handle for some apparent reason.

He didn't quite understand why.

"Tim? Tim!" Marcy's voice rang through the house.

"Here, I'm busy. What do you request?" Tim asked irately from his study room.

"I just wanted to inform you that Harry and I will be attending a convention out of town. We'll be there for the next three days," Marcy informed.

"And you are telling me this... why?" Tim asked, looking up from his work.

"Because you will be in charge of watching the house and attending to everything while we're gone," Marcy explained.

"Yes, I already do that while you occupy this vicinity, thank you," Tim said, shaking his head and resuming his work.

"Well, we'll be back in three days, so if you need anything-"

"Yes, three days, I got it. 72 hours you will be gone. I will take care of everything, I promise," Tim assured.

"Wonderful, just wanted to update you. I will leave you to your work," Marcy said with a feign smile, realizing Tim was busy.

Tim, to be quite honest, couldn't be more joyous to have peace and quiet to himself for the next three days.


	8. Chapter 7 The Fatal Day

The next day was fresh and bright. Tim did his normal morning exercises, grabbed the grocery list that Marcy left on the table, and proceeded to go to the center of town. He happily walked down the road towards the market with a spring in his step. He felt fresh, and -woah, a car! Tim leapt out of the way as the car sped past, splashing Tim in mud.

"HEY! Watch where you're going, bub!" Tim shouted at the car rapidly shrinking into the distance. He was all dirty, and with no bath in sight. He was too far from home to go back, and he wasn't even close to the town yet. "Great," he mumbled. He continued walking but, luckily, chanced upon a small brook. It was too small to bathe in, but maybe he could wash his face first. He splashed some water in his face, and was disgusted to learn that foaming algae was all on the surface. The algae had stuck to his face, and now his face looked like it was foaming.

"Great. Just great." he said. His only option now was to walk all the way to the town and hope that they had something he could use to wash up in. The only problem was that his leg was acting up again from the bombing, a consequence the nurse explained was a result of loss of synaptic motor nerves in his leg, and he couldn't walk correctly. All of this was becoming very stressful to Tim.

When he reached the town, he was surprised to find that there was nobody outside, despite the numerous houses. He couldn't see well through the foaming algae, and he hoped that there was someone to help him. He kept wobbling through the town when he saw some people up ahead. But then he saw someone.

"Hey!" he shouted up to them. "Hey! A little help, please!" He suddenly had the impression that they didn't hear him, for one of them had a gun pointed in his direction. He immediately started his bullet evasive manœvures by stiffening up like a rabid dog and then running around, but before he could start, his leg acted up. Then, the man shot him.


	9. Chapter 8 Rebirth

Tim saw darkness for a while until a sudden light appeared. Tim didn't know if he was sailing to Heaven but then figured he was back in reality. _But... but how_? he asked himself repeatedly. When his eyes didn't feel like boulders, he finally opened them and discovered he was not on the street next to the Radleys' house and that Atticus Finch, Heck Tate, and the others were not right in front of him. Instead, he saw a perspex window and a table full of bubbling chemicals and lab books. _Am I in some sort of Hell_? Tim asked himself. He tried to move but he was cuffed to a cold, metal, tilted chair. Tim observed more of this lair. The walls were light brown and there were skeletons of various animals decorated around him. He spotted some more tubes and chemical instruments to his left. The room was lit with little light, and the light seemed to hover over him. Tim slowly laid his head back on the bench. All of a sudden, the lights sprang into action and even Tim had to shut his eyes due to the blinding brightness. When he finally opened them, he saw a man standing there. "Zeebo?" he asked in a voice that could be categorized as a whisper.

"Welcome to my lair, Tim Johnson," Zeebo smiled. He wasn't wearing his typical muddy garbage outfit; instead, he wore a white lab coat and wore small glasses. In one hand he held some sort of bottle with a blue chemical swirling inside. Tim examined more of the room and saw behind Zeebo was some kind of advanced technology that he'd never seen before. There was some sort of computer where DNA files were stored and more chemical instruments. _Is this guy some kind of Frankenstein_? Tim asked himself. Zeebo's footsteps neared him. "Am I truly in Hell?" Tim asked, but thought of rephrasing it a little differently. "Well, technically for you, yes," Zeebo said, with a wily smile creeping on his face. Tim couldn't help but staring at the bottle he held in his palms. "What am I doing here?" Tim asked simply. Zeebo gave a small laughter. "I thought you would never ask," he said. Zeebo strode over to one table and took another bottle and poured the one in his hand and the other one into a needle-shaped instrument.

"I saved you from death," Zeebo said.

"But- what... that's... impossible," Tim said, searching for logic.

"To an illogical being it is, but I've finally done it," Zeebo said.

"Done what?" asked Tim.

"This serum I just poured into this shot brought you back to life," Zeebo began to explain. "See, I took something and reversed it. Instead of killing life, I am bringing it back to life. It's all very simple chemistry, my friend. I have finally defeated death, which seemed to be an impossible battle that would never be won. But I've done it."

"That's... astounding," Tim said.

"Yes, but you were my first test subject," Zeebo said. Tim's eyes bulged. "I have yet to actually test it on a Human being and see if it truly works, but I'm sure if I brought you alive, I can do the same with the rest."

"So I might die again? Wonderful," Tim groaned.

"I've done the calculations, and no, but of course when a virus is created, side effects seem inevitable," Zeebo said, examining the needle.

"What? Did you just say a 'virus?'" Tim asked.

"Oh, did I?" Zeebo chuckled. "I guess I did. You see, people call it a 'cure' when they find something that can help someone get better. But you see, this is not a cure, but a virus. It doesn't return people to normal, but it infects them."

"It's not a healthy drug at all. You're poisoning me!" Tim screamed.

"I saved you from mere death! You owe me one," Zeebo said.

"I'd rather be dead then being your petty lab rat!" Tim barked. Zeebo laughed louder.

"Now you're rolling with the program. World conquest will be mine, Johnson. I've always wanted Asia to myself."

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Tim said, trying to free himself.

"Oh, but you can't. You're my loyal servant now, and your mind and your thoughts are all my property," laughed Zeebo, giving a sinister grin. Tim sank back. "Tim, if I tell people this will save them from death, everybody'll want it," Zeebo said. "But it infects them and I have engineered the disease that whoever is infected that they will only obey me." Tim gulped. He was at a loss of words. "Yes, yes, I know. I'm a villain. But this world is becoming too corrupt. This virus will help eliminate the problems." Zeebo approached Tim and injected more of the serum. Tim began to twitch furiously. His eyes became red as blood and his teeth grew. His claws grew larger and he became more aggressive that he was able to break the chains. Zeebo let out an evil chuckle.


	10. Chapter 9 Da Truth

"What? What did you say?" yelled Marcy. Her dark face turned pale. Behind her, Harry was sweating and his throat was dry. At the door was Heck Tate, his hat by his knees.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson, but he was mad and rabid. We had to," Heck said politely.

"You had no right to kill our dog! This is an absolute felony!" yelled Harry.

"He was rabid, Mr. Johnson, and in case if you don't know Maycomb law, rabid dogs are to be dealt with. Atticus wanted me to send his condolences as well," Heck said.

"No one will ever make me happy, no matter who it comes from," Marcy said.

"I... I don't know what to tell you then," Heck said. "Tim's dead, that's that. It's the simplest way I can explain it to you."

"But he wasn't even rabid! He looked perfectly fine when we left three days ago," Harry said.

"Well, I don't know then. If there's anything you need, come to me. Don't bother bringing it up in court. We're very busy with this Tom Robinson case. It has the whole town enraged," Heck said.

Marcy didn't say anything and slammed the door. She burst into tears and fell into Harry's arm, who stood still. He seemed lost in an unknown world as he stared into the midst.

"They killed our poor Tim!" Marcy said, trying to regain her breath. "What... what are we going to do?"

Harry smoothly rubbed her back, still staring into oblivion.

"They had no right!" she screamed.

"I know, I'm just as upset," Harry said gently. Marcy pushed away from him.

"Just as upset? You're not even weeping, you coward! Our dog died! What have you to say?"

Harry shrugged. "He wasn't our dog, Marcy. He told us that, remember?"

"Yes, yes, but he was the best thing we've ever had! Why? That stupid Atticus Finch and that spineless Heck Tate! This town is full of invertebrates!" Marcy growled, swallowing her tears. "I want to go to Judge Taylor right now and tell him everything!"

"Who'll listen us, dear?" Harry asked. "We're not important. Tim was. And you heard what the sheriff said. They're busy on this Robinson case. It's bad news. Convicted of raping a young woman. A Ewell, actually."

"I don't care who raped who, I just want Tim back," cried Marcy. "And also, what about the mortgage? We can't afford it, Harry, we just can't! We'll have to move again. It's so sad, I started to adapt to this city. I made friends with this one lady, Calpurnia, and her son, Zeebo, and also with that nice Ms. Maudie Atkinson."

"It's the course of life, honey, we just need to accept it," Harry said.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Realizing Marcy wouldn't budge, Harry picked it up. "Yes, hello?" On the other line was Robert.

"This is Robert Neville. I just wanted to give my regards to your devastating loss," Robert said, trying not to shed tears but was somehow convicted to do so.

"Well, thanks, Rob. It's been a while," Harry said.

"Um... yes, it has," Robert said. He took a deep breath. "Listen... Tim probably never brought this up to you, but he had a fortune and gave it to me."

That set Harry on fire. "What?" he screamed. "Tim had a fortune and he never told us?"

"He didn't trust you, and I have to say I take part in that. I'm sincerely sorry, but Tim would've given it to you if he, well, trusted you." "Didn't trust us? We're his owners!" Harry said, forgetting what he had told his wife.

"No, no you aren't. Tim would never forget to tell anyone that he has no owner. He's the owner of himself. It's how it works. But, I do apologize for this critical message."

"You better, you slick-headed numbskull. We're bankrupt because of you. Why can't you just split the fortune with us?" Harry protested.

"I can't. It's Tim's. I'm lucky to even have it! But you never gained his trust. Maybe he would've given it to you, but he felt sorry for me. I have nothing. My store was destroyed and my bill for the hospital is stunningly high."

"So... you're just going to leave us to rot?" Harry asked.

"Harry, we're both are doctors. Go out and be one. We're free. We don't have to live in fear anymore. That's what's holding you back."

"Don't come calling me and trying to lecture about idealism. You don't feel sorry for me at all. Life was easy for you, Rob, but it killed me. You're just one of 'em looking breeds," Harry said.

"Again, I'm sorry. And I'm terribly sorry about your fatal loss," Robert said. Harry just hung up and ran his fingers on his bald scalp. "Well? Who was it?" Marcy asked.

"Neville. He told me Tim had a... a fortune," Harry said.

Marcy almost fainted. Harry helped Marcy to a couch. Marcy slumped in the seat.

"We're done for, Harry, we're done," she said.

"I'll try to find a job, I promise. And I'll try to find a better living place, too," Harry said. As Marcy sank into the seat, Harry ran to the phone, dialing numbers. Finally, after a few hours, he ran back.

"I got it! There's this family in Chicago willing to help us!" he said.

"Chicago? Of all places..." Marcy smirked.

"Yes, I spoke with the mother. Said her name was Mrs. Younger," Harry said.

"Is her son, by chance, Walter Younger? He was a class fool when I went to elementary school," Marcy said. "I don't know, but they're willing to share their living space with us. We just have to pay a little rent but not completely."

And so, the Johnsons packed their things and stowed away on a train to Chicago. The Younger family consisted of mama, the man, Walter, his wife, Ruth, Walter's sister, Benetha, and Walter's son, Travis. The Johnsons became annoying to them and Walter and Harry would compete each morning to use the shower. Harry became a real estate person and Marcy became a house maiden to a wealthy family. And that's the happy ending of the Harry and Marcy's tale.


	11. Chapter 10 Dark Trials

Tim was in a room, cornered by dank walls, and in front of him stood manikins. Zeebo observed from the outside, jotting down notes and checking marks onto a paper. Tim rigorously and viciously tore through each of the manikins.

"Now, Tim," Zeebo began, "There is a small child wandering about. Please attack it."

Tim froze and twitched his head. "I-I can't do such a thing," Tim said in a deep, masculine voice as he shrank his elbows.

"Don't worry, Tim, I'm merely testing you on your abilities. I have to engineer this virus to perfection, because if I don't one little error can cause a big change, and I cannot afford that. Luckily, time is on our side and I have no intentions of rushing this delicate process."

Zeebo walked over to his computer and typed in some notes and finally drew a test tube full of yellow and white chemicals into the serum and added some water. He then put it in a needle and injected it into Tim. Tim's teeth shown as he leaped and destroyed the child manikin.

"See, Tim? Patience. Without it, I don't know where I would be. But, I can't have an army of infected dogs. I need a liable Human subject," Zeebo said.

Tim finished gnawing at the manikin and bowed before his new Master.

"I am at your service, Your Exalted," Tim said.

"Now, now, don't need to be so diplomatic. We are not trying to be like Nazi Germany at this point, but rather oppose it."

"I do not question your statements at all, my Master."

Zeebo had a sign of annoyance but liked all of the majestic manners he was receiving.

"Loyalty, yes. I think I may have added a little too much," Zeebo said.

"Master?" Tim said, starting to shiver.

"What is it?"

"Well... I have memories... memories of... an old me."

Zeebo glared at Tim suspiciously and then snapped.

"But of course! Emotions. Memories of a dead man, or, in your case, a dead dog. Yes, as I said, there are defects that must be dealt with."

"I see... me, and a man I've seen before," Tim said, looking arduously into his vision.

Zeebo rubbed his chin and concentrated on Tim.

Tim finally inhaled deeply, taking it the mechanical oxygen that invisibly overtook the lair. He opened his red eyes and looked at Zeebo, who just awkwardly stared at him. "I-I'm sorry, Master," Tim said apologetically.

Zeebo rolled his eyes. "I hope humans have a better emotional quo than animals," he said. He walked over to a computer and typed in some notes.

"Anything else you request, Master? Any other tests?" Tim asked patiently. "Nope. I think that will be all, for the animal subjects of course. Humans still need to be dealt with. Any ideas on who we shall target?"

Tim gulped and shook his head. He finally said something. "A-Atticus?"

Zeebo grinned. "Atticus, the man who keeps my mother a slave and entraps her in that house. And those two brazen kids he raises. Pitiful how such precious creatures are wasted." Tim said nothing. He didn't need to. Zeebo had answered everything in a few words.

"How about this Dill Harris, a friend of theirs?" Tim asked.

"Dill? Who's Dill?" asked Zeebo.

"Well, he's a child who visits them about every summer and promises to marry Scout. If we can get ahold of him, all of Maycomb and his state will be under our... I mean, your, influence."

Zeebo leaned on a desk. "Yes, this Dill seems a worthy subject as well. What an... exotic name," Zeebo said, though the statement was better fit for a question.

"He can read, so he's not one of them dumb folks," Tim said.

"Stupid or not, children can be deceived easily. You wouldn't believe how many would fall for such tomfoolery."

Again, Tim did not answer and bit his lip to prohibit from talking.

Zeebo spun his heels, facing Tim. "Where does this Dill boy live?"

"I don't know, but he should be coming around by now."

Zeebo clasped his hands together. "We shall wait and see. In the meantime, keep fit and remember your skills. I will study more of my virus to make sure it is engineered to perfection."

Tim nodded and walked out of the room, taking a look back at Zeebo, who was now a vile master to him. He wasn't sure if this was the right choice or not, but a zombie, well, at least Tim, is always loyal to the master, or leader of the herd. Tim walked into the room, shut the door, and did his daily meditation, but was interrupted by haunting visions. He had the vision of being shot.

 _The neighborhood was quiet. The mockingbirds had flown away. Miss Stephanie Crawford had her nose glued to her window with Miss Maudie Atkinson right next to her. Inside the Finch residence, Jem, Scout, and their maidan Calpurnia worriedly watched Heck Tate shove the rifle into Atticus's palms. Tim, who was a figure of misdemeanor, approached them, hoping for some adequate cleaning water. It didn't take less than a nanosecond for Tim to realize Atticus pointed the rifle at him. Tim had began his maneuver, but Atticus nailed a bullet into his spine, paralyzing his whole body. The only thing Tim heard before he died was Atticus telling his boy not to go near the corpse for he was a dangerous dead as alive. From those words on, Tim proclaimed revenge. Then, Zeebo arrived. Zeebo collected his body. It just occurred to Tim that the man didn't toss the body into the truck without delicacy, but laid the body smoothly up on the other trash. He also poured some kind of chemical onto the spot where Tim had died. Then, the truck left the town and made a left into the woods where no one else, but Zeebo, dared to go. Tim sat there, and then, he awoke_.

Tim slowly opened his eyes and stretched. "Atticus," he growled to himself. "Revenge. Revenge will be mine. I swear it." Tim walked out of the room and Zeebo was at a table, pouring some green liquid into the original serum bottle. "Blast it! Can't get any of these ingredients to cooperate with this serum," Zeebo said. Tim stiffly sauntered over and did some pouring and mixing and soon the serum swirled in a weird, gray mist. Zeebo laughed. "Genius! Pure genius!" But then he frowned. "But not perfect. If my creatures possess knowledge, they could overthrow me. Thank you, Tim, for warning me of this kind of effect." Zeebo ran to the computer and typed some more. "You seem troubled, Tim. I thought we had already discussed emotion," Zeebo said.

"I'm sorry, Master, but I'm disturbed about my old self."

"What did I tell you, Johnson? I told you **not** to remember that dog, the old Tim Johnson. You are a laborious peasant who solely is in bondage and servitude to me."

Tim nodded. "I apologize for thinking as well, Master."

"Enough with the darn sorrys! Sorrys won't win the world, Tim, only conquest. Little see this. Luckily, I was born with a brain. The old woman taught me to read. Well, won't she get a big surprise in the end."

"How can I evade these visions, Master?"

"I don't know, did you try meditating?"

"That's what caused it," Tim said dumbly.

"Look, Tim, I don't have time for this baloney, okay? I got a world to conquer and people to infect."

"But... earlier today you said-"

"Okay, okay, fine. You win. I really need to stop concentrating on so much strength and focus on the real stuff."

"Of course, Master. Now, let's start with revenge," said Tim, with a dull glow in his eyes.


End file.
